Theorizing
by jespah
Summary: On October 12, 2153, Captain Jonathan Archer and Doctor Sam Beckett reciprocally leap in time, in this Star Trek: Enterprise/Quantum Leap crossover.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

" _Oh, boy_ ," Dr. Sam Beckett sighed as he landed in a flash of bluish light … somewhere. As always, it was a wholly unfamiliar place. Ever since that incident with the Cokeburg, Pennsylvania bartender,, he had lost touch with Project Quantum Leap. That leap had felt almost philosophical, and things had changed.

He had been a pioneer, a time traveler, wending his way through a means that was originally his own design but, he quickly learned, he had little control over any of it. For the first few years, he had ping-ponged between what he had known as the present time – the late 1990s and early 2000s – to events that had occurred during his lifetime. Being born in the early 1950s meant that he had had over fifty years' worth of destinations. His memory had holes in it like Swiss cheese, but he had managed all right.

His first leap had been targeted. But the first leap back in time brought with it the need to fix something, to put right what had once been wrong, and then he had leapt again. But his leaps were no longer targeted. He would leap 'into' someone else's life, fix, and involuntarily leap again. Simplifying matters had been his guide from Project Quantum Leap, Admiral Albert Calavicci. They had worked well together for a few years.

Then he'd been whisked to a bar in Pennsylvania, and everything just sort of came together, as he had seen visions of people he'd helped during his peregrinations. He had fixed one last thing – for Al Calavicci, it had turned out – and that had utterly cut him off from not only Al, but from everyone and everything else he had ever known.

Leaping, ever since then, had gotten even stranger, but at least he had his full memory back. That had stood him in good stead as he had made his way. No longer shackled to his own lifetime – and suspecting that he was possibly dead – he had leaped all over the past. He'd been to the American Revolution, the assassination of Julius Caesar in Rome, the moment that Marco Polo had met Kublai Khan, and even the first taming of fire by primitives.

But this was different.

For one thing, there was some beeping in the background. For another, there was an incredibly hot redhead standing in front of him. She was wearing a blue jumpsuit, almost as if she was a garage mechanic. "Welcome back, Captain," she smiled.

"Uh, thanks, um," his voice trailed off for a second until he noticed there was a patch on her left arm that said _J. Crossman_ , "Crossman." It felt odd to be referring to this beauty by her last name, but a run-through of every female name that started with J would take a while.

"Sir, are you feeling all right?"

"Huh?"

"Sir," Crossman stated, "You seem a bit, I dunno, disoriented, if I may say so. Can I escort you to Sick Bay?"

"Sure, yes, that would be a good idea." Sam walked along with her, wondering how he'd be able to figure out her first name. That wasn't the only thing he was wondering about. 

There were somewhat dimly lit corridors in the building. The ceilings were a bit low; he sometimes had to duck. There were some worn spots and, sometimes, he'd spot a person fixing something or other. They all wore the same uniform and, Sam, realized, so did he. No one saluted him, but they did refer to him as _Captain_ as he and Crossman strolled. Finally, some tall, balding guy referred to his companion as _Jenny. Thank God for small miracles_ , Sam thought. She flipped open what looked like a small cell phone, "Hoshi, can you get me Commander T'Pol?" she asked.

"Sure," came a female voice from the phone's tiny speaker, "go ahead."

"Thanks. Commander, Captain Archer's back. But he seems a little tired so I'm bringing him to Sick Bay."

"Thank you, Ensign," it was another female voice, but this one was a little lower in pitch and seemed a bit flat. _Perhaps the Commander didn't care about much of anything_ , thought Sam. _Ensign, Ensign, that would be the Navy_ , Sam thought, _but with so many women serving alongside men?_ That would put the date at somewhere near the end of what he had been referring to as his 'first life', for lack of a better expression.

Then the building lurched, and Sam realized it was no building. They were moving. It was a ship – maybe – but it was larger than he expected. It was also darkish and there were no windows. Below decks seemed huge. "So we're underway, Ensign Crossman?"

She looked at him strangely. "I think Sick Bay was a good idea, sir. After all, we've been underway in the Delphic Expanse for months."

"Yes, yes, of course." It was an old time traveler's trick that Sam himself had invented. _**No matter what anyone says to you, say yes to everything**_. Everything is known, everything is happening, everything is wonderful, everything is solid, you agree to everything. Vamp until you figure out what the hell _everything_ actually means.

There was a pair of double doors with a Caduceus on each of them, etched in what appeared to be glass. It was obviously Sick Bay. "I'll take it from here, Ensign."

"Sure, sir," but Jenny did hit the control to get the doors open, the moment she noticed him staring at the doors and trying to figure them out. He nodded and she departed.

Sam turned to the swishing sound of the opening doors to find a menagerie of experimental animals in cages. And, with them, there was a doctor in a lab coat, facing away from him. "Ah, Captain Archer!" The doctor enthused, but still with his back facing Sam. "I understand your visit to Degra's ship might have gotten you a tad disoriented."

"Yes, yes, of course." _Agree to everything, whatever it is_.

The doctor turned, and Sam's jaw dropped. "Sp-space alien?" All semblance of coolness was gone. Whoever he had leapt into, that person, this Captain Archer, he knew space aliens!

"Excuse me, Captain?" the alien inquired, with an abundance of calm.

Sam blinked several times and found he was hyperventilating. Despite everything, despite how long he had been traveling in time, absolutely _nothing_ had prepared him for this. His jaw was moving, but no sound was coming out. Finally, he squeaked out, "Where am I? What year is this? Who the hell are _you_? _What_ are you?" Then the floor came up to meet him, quickly, and things got black.

When he awoke, he was on a bed. That same strange doctor was standing over him, and so was a woman with odd pointed ears who, Sam realized, was possibly also a space alien. Nearby, fortunately, was the only person he kinda, sorta knew – Jenny Crossman. She fretted a little, wringing her hands. "I never should've left him," she said, pacing a little.

"You had no idea, Ensign," assured the alien doctor. He looked at Sam. "Now, Captain, I'm curious. Did anything happen while you were on Degra's ship?"

"Uh …." Just saying _yes_ could potentially be a major problem. Whoever this Degra person was, Archer had visited him – _Her? It?_ – voluntarily. Getting this Degra person into trouble – was that a good decision that would speed everything along, or not?

"Doctor," said the woman with the odd pointed ears, "the captain appears to be incapacitated. Perhaps I should speak with Degra."

"No," Sam interjected. "I, well, I don't really know." He raised himself up on his elbows. "Can I say something?"

"By all means," said the pointy-eared woman.

"I want to help you – I do – but I'm not really sure of what to say."

"Captain?" asked the woman. She raised one eyebrow.

"That's just it. I'm not your captain. I know I must look like him to you – and I wish I knew where he was. If I had access to Al, I'd know this," _Or maybe Ziggy,_ he thought quietly to himself, thinking of the parallel hybrid computer that effectively ran Project Quantum Leap, "But, well," he tried to address the confused looks on their faces, "I think I should explain things. But I barely know where to start."

"If you are not Captain Archer," the pointy-eared woman asked, "then who are you?" 

_Now or never_ , Sam thought. There was always a moment like this in any leap, where he had to almost blindly trust someone. She may have been a space alien, but the pointy-eared woman seemed capable of handling the full truth of the situation.

"My name is Dr. Sam Beckett. Please, _please_ , stop looking at me like I'm delusional. I know that this sounds insane, but I assure you that, well, within what's been happening to me, which I admit is more than a little, er, _caca_ , I am perfectly sane. I am; I'm a time traveler. But it's not fully controlled. I didn't want to displace and leap into your Captain Archer, but it looks like I have."

"Is that a permanent condition?" inquired the pointy-eared woman.

"No," Sam assured her, "I have to do something, to fix something in time. I know how crazy that sounds. But once it's done, I essentially leap out, your Captain Archer leaps back, and I'm on my merry way to some unknown destination."

"Cap–, uh, Dr. Beckett," the doctor adopted a soothing tone, "perhaps it would be best if I were to give you an examination, all right? Ensign, Commander, perhaps you should both depart."

"No, no, that's okay," Sam hastily spoke, hoping for witnesses. And Jenny was the only human who knew him at all. "Unless I have to disrobe."

"No worries." The doctor's face twisted into a far too-wide approximation of a human grin, and Sam nearly fainted a second time. "Just lie back, and you'll go through the imaging chamber."

"Imaging? Huh, it looks like an MRI," Sam mused.

"Dr. Phlox," Jenny asked, "what's an MRI?"

"I do believe it's a medical instrument from over a century ago. Now, lie still, please." The doctor fiddled with controls that Sam couldn't see, and the bed slowly moved backwards. It was maybe a minute later, and the bed's direction was reversed. "There, now, give it a moment."

"What do you hope to accomplish, Doctor?" It was the pointy-eared woman talking again.

"I am attempting to confirm Dr. Beckett's story." He peered at an instrument. "How very interesting."

"Well?" asked Jenny.

"The DNA scan is not quite right. Dr. Beckett, I can't say whether this is perfect proof that you're telling the truth, but it is certainly possible that you are. It does not rule out your story."

There was a chime, sounding like it came from an intercom. The pointy-eared woman pressed on a panel on the wall. "T'Pol here."

"Commander," it was a voice with a Southern twang, "the Xindi are comin' around again."

"Do you believe it to be a hostile act?" she asked.

"I don't think so," was the response. "But I'll let you know if I'm wrong. Tucker out."

She turned to face the rest of them. "Dr. Beckett, I do not necessarily believe your story. However, I am curious. Why is it that you have come here, to this time and this place? And, how? The Vulcan Science Directorate has postulated that time travel is impossible, yet we do have some proof."

" _Proof_? You have the means to travel in time? You could send me back!" Sam cried out.

"Dr. Beckett," the pointy-eared woman attempted to explain, "Dr. Phlox and Ensign Crossman here certainly remember Crewman Daniels. But his equipment is off-limits and even an engineer such as Ensign Crossman or Commander Tucker does not know how to use that equipment."

"Gooshie would come in awfully handy right about now," Sam commented.

"Gooshie?" asked the alien doctor.

"He's the Head Programmer for Project Quantum Leap. I don't know if he'd be able to use your equipment, uh, Daniels's equipment, that is. But I bet he'd give it the old college try."

The pointy-eared woman thought for a minute. "We should have a meeting of the senior staff. Ensign, you may as well attend. Your roommate is the sous-chef, is that correct?"

"Yes, Commander T'Pol."

"Contact her, please, as this meeting will likely continue into our next mealtime."

"Right away." Jenny flipped open her cell phone-like device and could be heard quietly requesting a catered meal for a conference room. "Dr. Beckett," she asked, "do you have any dietary restrictions?"

"No," Sam said, "and thanks, to all of you. I never know when I end up in these situations, if the people are friendly. It looks like you are; I'm glad of that."

Jenny smiled and spoke into her device, "Yeah, Lili, I guess he'll have the turkey. Thanks; see you soon, Roomie." She flipped the device closed. "I get the feeling what you're going to tell us is gonna be big."

"Definitely. Uh, Doctor?" Sam asked, "Do you have a mirror?"

"Certainly." The doctor departed to get the mirror.

"Why a mirror?" asked the pointy-eared woman.

"I gotta see who I leaped into. And I didn't catch your name."

"My name is T'Pol."

Sam made as if to shake her hand, but she drew back. "I come in peace," Sam said.

"There are certain issues with physical contact," she explained.

"Oh." The doctor had returned with the mirror, and gave it to Sam, who peered into it. "Hey, I look just like Archer. Or maybe he looks like me. Say, Doctor, I wasn't introduced to you, either."

"My name is Phlox." The doctor extended his hand for Sam to shake.

"So, you shake hands, but she doesn't?"

"You'll get used to it," Jenny assured him as they started to walk to a conference room. "How long have you been doing this, Dr. Beckett?"

"Time's a little incoherent," Sam explained, "for me, it's all over the place. I've been on the road – the temporal road, I guess you could call it – for quite a while now. Sorry that's not more specific. You're an engineer; I bet you like things explained."

"There's something to be said for a little mystery. Ah, here we are."

Jenny got the door to the conference room open. There were already six people in it. T'Pol spoke as one of the people, a very pale middle-aged blonde woman, began to set out food on the table, turkey sandwiches and salads. The blonde smiled at Sam as T'Pol explained, "We have a possible situation. This man claims to be a Dr. Sam Beckett. As you have noticed, he looks just like Captain Archer, only a bit younger. But Dr. Phlox's DNA scans show that he is a separate person. It is expected that you will all have questions, and the biggest one is likely whether this is a Xindi ruse. However, I believe it would be best to introduce yourselves to Dr. Beckett and provide some nonclassified information about your role on the ship. Commander Tucker?"

"Yes," it was that same twangy Southern inflection that Sam had heard earlier. "I'm Charles Tucker III, Chief Engineer here on the _Enterprise_. Call me Trip. And, uh, Jenny is my best engineer."

" _Enterprise_?" asked Sam.

Tucker nodded. "The _Enterprise_ is the first Warp Five starship." He smiled proudly and turned to an Asian woman sitting next to him. "Hoshi?"

"I'm Hoshi Sato; I'm the Communications Officer. My job is to translate alien languages."

"That must be very difficult," Sam commiserated. He looked at the very thin man sitting next her.

"Yes," said the man, who had an upper class British accent. "I'm Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, the ship's Armory Officer. Travis?"

Travis was a dark-skinned man. "I'm Travis Mayweather; I'm the pilot."

"Is anybody flying the ship?" Sam asked.

The blonde started to laugh. "When I was introduced to the senior staff, I had the same question."

"The second shift is on the Bridge," Travis explained. "So it's Chris Harris."

"Got it," Sam said. He turned to a well-built guy sitting next to Travis. "And you are …?"

"Major Jay Hayes. My uh, my mother's maiden name was Beckett, but I bet we're unrelated. I'm the head of the MACO unit. It stands for Military Assault Combat Operations. My people were brought in to help fight the Xindi."

" _Xindi_ ," Sam said, turning the unfamiliar word over in his head a few times, "I take it they're the bad guys?"

"More or less," Hayes replied.

"And you?" Sam turned to the blonde.

"Oh, don't worry about me."

"No, I wanna know," Sam encouraged.

"My name is Lili O'Day. I'm the sous-chef. I wield a mean spatula."

"Got it," Sam smiled.

Phlox said, "My species is Denobulan. I take it you have never seen anyone of my kind before."

"Doctor, I come from a time where we still think we're alone in the universe. I guess we're wrong."

T'Pol explained, "My species is Vulcan. Our first contact with humans was in 2063. It was the first time your species had ever met an extraterrestrial intelligence."

"I see. Now let me tell you about me. My name is Sam Beckett. I've got seven degrees, including as a medical doctor. I was born on August 8, 1953. I take it this is a lot later than that."

"It's October 12, 2153," Jenny explained.

"I'm a two hundred year old man," Sam sighed. "I guess it's obvious; I'm a time traveler. I invented a system, using a type of string theory. I was able to travel throughout my lifetime. That part started in 1999. It went on for about five years, and then I was sent to Cokeburg, Pennsylvania and it suddenly all changed. I had had a guide and I lost him, I lost the project, and I became somewhat directionless. At the same time, though, I also got my memory back. That's been a kind of good news, bad news thing. I do miss my family. It's so much harder because I remember them now."

"I was thinking," T'Pol said, "that we could enter Crewman Daniels's old quarters and see if Dr. Beckett here can make any sense of the equipment in it. Perhaps that would allow him to return to his home time and location, and for Captain Archer to return to us." There was a communications chime and she answered it on a unit that was built into the table. "Yes?"

"Commander, this is Sandra Sloane at Communications. I've just received the strangest piece of email."

"Crewman, explain."

"Commander, this note is from Captain Archer, and it's for a Dr. Sam Beckett."

Everyone looked around the room. "Send the note to my PADD," Commander T'Pol requested. Once the data had been passed, she showed the screen to Sam. "I will not read it; it is your own private communication." Sam looked at the note.

 _Dear Sam,_

 _Hopefully the timing is good for this note and you're getting it after you've started to get your bearings. I was surprised to find that my beam back to the Enterprise from Degra's ship ended up instead being a leap back in time to 2014. The people at Project Quantum Leap said that my appearance was the first coherent activity they had seen in a decade._

 _I'm sure we both have jobs to do. I know mine is to stop the Xindi Ultimate Weapon from destroying Earth. They explained that you will do everything in your power to help me, and I appreciate that. Your programmer, Gooshie, and your Dr. Beeks, they both say that they think that my appearance, our switching, and our being so close genetically means that there may be a chance for them to retrieve you._

 _Dr. Eleese was particularly affected when she saw me. She didn't want me to mention this because no one at the Project is sure about the state of your memory. But I am going to tell you because I think it's the right thing to do. Sam, she is your wife. She said to tell you that she looks at Megrez every night. I'm sure that's something private between the two of you but you might like to know that that's the star which the Xyrillian home world revolves around. T'Pol would know. It's a small galaxy, I suppose._

 _I can't be sure what your mission is, and your computer Ziggy has no data. Your friend Al says he thinks you are there because of something to do with Degra. I can tell you that we had a decent meeting but he remains suspicious and doubts that our people will be friends. Maybe you can convince him. Maybe that is your mission. Tucker, Reed, and Hayes might have other ideas, though._

 _It was Sammy Jo Fuller's idea to write this note. I do hope that it actually got to you, and we really did switch places and you are in October of 2153 and are on the Enterprise. Good luck to you. Hell, good luck to both of us._

 _All the best,_

 _Jonathan Archer_

Sam looked up. "Looks like Archer and I kind of switched places and we kind of didn't. He's at Project Quantum Leap, but he's there a decade after I lost contact with them and the leaping all changed. So it's hard to say. But he said that he thinks I'm here to try to convince this Degra person to help you. He also mentioned something about a weapon. What's going on?"

"We are at war," Malcolm explained, "the Xindi attacked with a weapon that split Florida and South America in two. It killed seven million people." Commander Tucker looked down.

"I take it," Sam commented, "that some of those losses were more personal than others."

"You could say that," Tucker's words were barely audible.

"All right," Sam agreed, "I will try. But I don't know anything more about your war or about Degra or any of this, other than what you're telling me. How can I be the one to convince this Degra character? Is he the leader of these Xindi?"

"He's the designer of the weapon," Jenny explained.

"Oh. I don't know what to say to that," Sam replied honestly.

"You should have a MACO presence with you," Jay suggested, "You don't know how to use our weapons."

"Then it should be Security," Malcolm remarked.

"I, I don't want it to be weapons," Sam declared.

"These are dangerous people," Jay stated.

"I have to agree with the Major," Malcolm said, and the unspoken implication was – _just this one time_.

"No," Sam reiterated. "This guy is just an engineer, right? So he thinks like, like Jenny here. If I go in there, guns a-blazing, don't you think that'll destroy whatever trust Archer was trying to build in the first place? Even if all I've got is a holstered weapon, or the gun's not loaded, it doesn't matter. He'll see it as a threat and that we're suspicious. And he would be absolutely right. I can't condone that."

"Nobody wants you to be risking your life," Travis pointed out.

"I'll be all right," Sam tried to assure them all. "Listen, I want you to understand something about what I've been doing for the last, I guess, decade. I've been in all sorts of dangerous situations. I was a medic at Saratoga during the American Revolution. I hunted wooly mammoth on the steppes of what I'm guessing became Russia. I was in the Roman Senate when they knifed Julius Caesar. I was in Nile floods during the Fourth Dynasty of Egypt, battles during the Crusades, and I was a part of the Siege of Masada. And through all of this, my bacon was saved, over and over again. Whatever is leaping me around, be it God or fate or time or whatever, well, that's looking out for me as well, I guess."

"Fate protects fools, 'lil children, and I think it protects the _Enterprise_ , too," Tucker commented. "Still, Cap – I mean, Dr. Beckett. Dammit, why do you have to look so much like him, too? With all due respect, you don't know anything about this. You just fell into this."

"Leaped," Sam corrected him, but smiled a little.

"Fine, you leaped. It's still not right. We shouldn't, we should not be enabling this."

"Are there other opinions?" T'Pol asked.

"I say there needs to be a Security presence, but the mission should go ahead," stated Malcolm.

"Same here, but with a MACO presence," Jay countered, "We're better trained in hand to hand."

"Gentlemen," T'Pol interjected, "your suggestions are under advisement. Ensign Sato?"

"It feels wrong. I would say no."

"Ensign Mayweather?" asked T'Pol.

"I gotta say, I'm liking the idea of you going in alone, unarmed. I think you're right, Dr. Beckett. I don't think they'll even try to trust you any other way."

"I agree with Ensign Mayweather and Dr. Beckett," Phlox stated. "The act of establishing trust means that you need to; as you like to say, walk the walk."

"What about you two?" Sam turned to Jenny and Lili, who was clearing the dishes.

"Us? Oh, we don't get a vote," Jenny explained.

"Why not?" Sam asked, "And don't tell me about rank. I don't have any sort of a rank. And I wanna hear what you have to say."

"Really?" Jenny asked. Sam nodded. She looked around nervously as they were all looking at her. "I can see the idea of wanting to be open and trusting. And I believe you when you say you've had your feet pulled out of the fire more than once. But I just, you know, I don't wanna see you get hurt."

Now they were all staring at Lili. "I dunno. I could make you a cake to bring. I'm, uh, this is why I'm not in Tactical." She turned back to the task of clearing the dishes.

"Commander?" Sam asked T'Pol.

"Captain Archer would have gone in unarmed. And now you will, too, Dr. Beckett."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

June of 2014 at Project Quantum Leap had threatened to be an awful lot like May of 2014, which had been like April and before that, going back in an unbroken chain to when contact with Sam Beckett had been lost. But then Rear Admiral (Retired) Albert Calavicci had received a mysterious text message from Ziggy, the parallel hybrid computer, just when he had been about to sit down to dinner with his wife, Beth, and their five daughters, assorted sons-in-law, one daughter-in-law, and a passel of grandchildren. He had sprung up from his seat, whooped louder and longer than any guy in his early seventies had any right to, and had woken up his youngest grandson, Logan.

Alone in her quiet home, as she sat near the edge of the swimming pool, Dr. Donna Eleese had been picking at takeout and trying not to think about things as the stars winked on, including, in the Big Dipper, Megrez. She had made a wish, "Here's to you, Sam, wherever you may be." She received the same text message, but she didn't whoop or jump. She just sat there and sniffled, and then dried her eyes. "I do hope it's not another false alarm," she had sighed.

That had been a few days previously. It had been no false alarm; rather, it was almost the universe's version of a good news, bad news joke. The good news was that the project was not dead. The bad news was that the person who had leaped was not Sam Beckett at all. And the cruelest news of all was how much Jonathan Archer looked and sounded like Sam Beckett – at least, like a somewhat older version of him. Dr. Verbena Beeks had performed the DNA test herself, and had determined that Jonathan and Sam were close, albeit not identical. Still, the DNA relationship was closer than even for non-twin siblings.

Archer had been fitted with one of Beckett's old suits, a condition that had made Donna really cry when she had gotten home that first night. On the following day, he had asked to get out and see New Mexico, and Al had driven him around in a candy apple red sports car. "Yanno," Al had mentioned then, "they tell me there are a lotta beautiful women around here. But," he had shrugged, "I have no idea. I can't see anyone but Beth." Jonathan had smiled a little at that, a surprising revelation from someone he had no other way of knowing.

That had been the day before. Archer was being kept at the project's secret offices and, apart from Al's tour of the area, he hadn't been outside. The spending of his time had been about the unexpected leap, his story about where and when he was from, and the project trying to figure out how to believe him – and be able to justify their decision, if it ever came to that. But they had come around eventually, all of them.

This time, he asked Gooshie and Sammy Jo Fuller and Dr. Beeks, "Do you think there's any chance of me going back to my ship?"

"Well, Doc– uh, Captain Archer, I can't really be sure. Ziggy says there's a fourteen percent chance that you're with us for good," Gooshie reported.

"What do _you_ think?"

"I have no idea. Tina and I were talking, and she thinks, well, honey, why don't you tell the captain yourself?" He gestured encouragingly to Tina, who was a technician at the project.

Tina came over, as Captain Archer and Dr. Beeks looked on. "See, it's like this." She had a pair of ribbons in her hair and took them both out. "Your – I mean, Dr. Beckett's – theory is that your life is like a string. And his time travel technology works by allowing you to ball up that string and then the days that you live all touch each other in these weird and unexpected ways. It stops being linear."

"All right," Captain Archer remarked, "I'm with you so far."

"But, see, look at these two ribbons. What can you tell me about 'em?"

"They're both turquoise," Jonathan said, "and that one is a little bit wrinkled."

She smoothed the wrinkled ribbon as well as she could. "Now, are they the same dimensions?"

"I think so. They look like they are. What are you driving at?"

"Here." She put her hands behind her back for a few seconds and then showed him both ribbons again; and now they were both a bit wrinkled. "Can you tell me which of these ribbons was in my left hand before I hid them?"

"No, I can't. Not without knowing more about them, maybe on a quantum level."

"Exactly," she started to fix up her hair again. "So the way I see it is, your string – or your ribbon, if you prefer – it looks just like Dr. Beckett's. At least it does to the naked eye and probably to the level of granularity that our instruments are set at. The instruments look at both ribbons and they can't tell 'em apart. So it grabs one but it thinks it's got the other. Or maybe it doesn't even realize that there are two. That might not matter quite so much. But either way, it's got the wrong one. And the instruments – or maybe God, or fate, or time – I was never much for _that_ theory, well, maybe they made a mistake. Maybe this is supposed to be a way to get Dr. Beckett back."

"Maybe," Gooshie allowed. "Dr. Beeks here and I were talking, and we agreed that this might be a sign that Sam's mission is coming to a close."

"This might even be a chance to retrieve Dr. Beckett," Dr. Beeks clarified.

"But my people will be skeptical, and they might unknowingly interfere with Dr. Beckett's mission," Archer said. "I just wish there was a way to get them a message. You know, just in case Dr. Beckett really is there on the _Enterprise_ , and not just lost somewhere. I mean, the idea is that we're thinking this was some sort of a reciprocal leap, right?"

"Right. Al might know," Gooshie stated. He hit the preset on his cell phone. "Admiral, can you come in here a moment?"

"Sure; be right there."

Once Al arrived, Tina asked him, "How would you get a message to the future?"

"The future?" asked Al. "Huh." He thought for a few seconds, and then snapped his fingers. "Wait, we did this! When I was stuck in 1945! I wrote a letter and I asked a law firm to deliver it to the project. Don't you remember, Gooshie?"

"Some of that time frame from before Dr. Beckett's disappearance is a little fuzzy for me," the programmer admitted.

Dr. Beeks offered, "I can check our files. I'm guessing this was a paper letter."

"Well, sure," replied the admiral, "post-World War II America didn't get email until a lot later."

"It should be an email," Sammy Jo said, "do you still have email?"

"We do," the captain replied.

"So send an email," Sammy Jo urged.

"Then we'll make it an email," Jonathan declared. "I can; maybe I should send something to Beckett himself. The fact that there's a note from me to him will probably convince my staff. And then he can get some information and maybe even share it if he thinks it'll help." Tina had a tablet computer with her and loaned it to him. "Uh, thanks. This won't be more than a few minutes."

Once he'd gotten the email written, Captain Archer looked up. "I'll need a courier."

"I think a law firm is your best bet," Al stated. "Just pass 'em a few and they'll do it."

"I didn't exactly leap here with my wallet," Archer said.

"Not to worry. I'll take it outta project funds," Al said, "We'll call it _stamps_ , or something. Tina, can you find a likely candidate firm?"

"Sure." She took her tablet back and started tapping on it furiously. "Huh. Here's one: Koenig & Brooks. They okay with you?"

"They're all the same to me," the captain commented.

"Here, I'll Skype," Tina offered, "and then we can all see and hear what's going on."

A paralegal answered. "Can I help you?" she asked.

"I want to send an email," the captain explained.

"Our overall inquiry address is –"

"No," Jonathan explained, "actually, I'm looking for a future delivery."

"I'm not sure I follow why you're calling us," admitted the paralegal. "Can't you just schedule delivery through your online mail provider?"

"It's a far future delivery. There's a possibility that my online mail provider might not exist then," Captain Archer said.

"How far in the future are we looking at?"

"October 12, 2153," Al explained.

"You're putting me on," complained the paralegal.

"Tell ya what," Al offered, "I'm guessing your billing rate is maybe a hundred an hour or so? So let's make the price tag an even five hundred. All of this is for maybe five minutes' worth of work. You take the money, you take the email, and you set it up for delivery. Check every few years to make sure the provider is still in business. If you leave the firm get your replacement to do this. Even all of these little checks won't come to five hours between now and then, nearly a hundred and forty years from now. You'll look great, too, for bringing in all that cash up front. So, whaddaya say?"

"Um, all right; send it over. But I still think this is crazy."

"We'll look over the email, make sure we're fine with it and then transfer it over with your funds," Al promised. "Bye." Once the connection was cut, he looked at the others. "I think she'll do it. Once you electronically transfer the file over, I think you can consider it sent, for all intents and purposes."

"All right," Jonathan allowed, picking up the tablet again. "We should ask Dr. Eleese what she thinks before we go any further with this." He sighed. "She's been avoiding me; I imagine it's not hard to figure out why."

Sammy Jo looked at him. "I think it's on account that it's been so very long." She had a bit of a southern accent, pleasant to the ear. "It's your look, too, I imagine. If you had had any other sort of a look, Captain, I think she would be more accepting. Now, I suspect, to look at you is to give her yet another painful reminder."

"I don't mean to hurt her."

"Of course you don't," Al said. "But these last few days, they've gotta be hope and disappointment, all put together in one neat little package for her." He hit the preset on his cell phone. "Donna, yeah, can you come over to project headquarters? We have an idea, but we wanna run it by you first."

When Donna Eleese arrived, she cautiously entered the room. "I have a hard time even so much as looking at you, Captain Archer," she admitted.

"I'm sorry," Jonathan said, "I'm not like this in order to, to cause you any pain."

"I know," Donna allowed, "but it hurts all the same. Tell me, Al, why am I here?"

"We wanna send an email to Sam. The captain here says that it'll smooth the way and make it easier for his people to help Sam. Otherwise, they might be spinning their wheels there for a while."

"I see. And what are you planning to put into this letter?"

"I'll write to him, Dr. Eleese, and I'll mention everyone's name and, at the very least, all the name-dropping will convince him that I'm legit. And I'll drop some of the names of my staff. That ought to convince them."

"This is fine," Donna said, "but only under one condition."

"Which is?" asked Jonathan.

"You must never tell Sam that I exist. He wouldn't be able to do what he needs to, and he wouldn't be able to commit fully to the people he's trying to help, if he remembered that he was married." She turned away, sorrowful.

"But what about you?" asked Captain Archer, "Don't you get a say in the matter?"

"You've just heard my say."

"You're entitled to have your husband remember you; to miss you and want desperately to return to you."

"No," Donna said flatly, "I'm not. I don't matter anywhere near as much as the people who Sam is supposed to be helping. I'm doing right by him."

"By keeping him in the dark?" Jonathan's tone remained an incredulous one.

"Yes, by keeping him in the dark. Now, if you'll all excuse me? I have to get out of here. I'm sorry, Captain. I'm sure you're a fine man and all of that. I don't suspect you of ill will or foul play. But I just, I can't even be in the same room with you. Please, please! If you are somehow stuck here, please understand. It's nothing personal but I, I just can't look at you anymore. Please, never again." In tears, she turned away and fumbled for the door.

Dr. Beeks got up, too. "Dr. Eleese," she said, "let me go with you. You need someone to talk to."

"Yes, yes, of course." Donna turned back and looked, one last time, her lower jaw trembling. "I can't stay. Send your email. I hope it does you some good." The two women departed.

Sammy Jo sighed. "I don't think we should be crowdsourcing this. Captain Archer, whatever you wanna write, I'm sure it's fine. I approve of this and I want it and I don't, well, I don't dislike you or anything like that. But I'm also having a lotta trouble looking at you, Captain. Please forgive me."

"Just seal it," Al suggested. "Look it over and seal it. They can't look at your face. I'm not so sure I can look at your words, to be honest."

"I understand," Jonathan murmured. He looked over the email again, added a few more lines and sealed it. He handed the tablet to Tina who forwarded the message to the law firm.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

They had prepared him as well as they could, but a crash course in Earth politics, the _Enterprise_ 's defenses, and the Xindi situation was just not going to be enough. "Yanno," Jenny commented, "when we beam you over, maybe you'll just leap again."

"I doubt it," Sam replied, "I always have to do something first. What about Daniels's stuff?"

"Yes, that," Malcolm said, "We could try." He glanced over at Commander T'Pol.

"Yes," she said, "let us make the attempt." Everyone else departed.

The four of them walked over to cabin E-14, which had been Crewman Daniels's old quarters. Once his roommate, Craig Willets, had been moved out, months before, the cabin had been locked. It contained some of the time traveler's equipment but it had not been disturbed. Malcolm worked the combination on the heavy lock on the door and got it to open. "Jennifer, you and I had best wait outside."

"Of course."

Sam and T'Pol walked in. "It just looks like a guy's bunk," he commented.

"Here," she said, showing Sam a hand-held device that was roughly rectangular in shape although the top part was rounded a bit. "This seems to have been some form of scanner."

Sam stared at the greyish device, which had a small screen. He sat down at a desk in the room. "Oh, God."

"What is the trouble?"

Sam just sat there, and started to weep. "It's not the same thing. Don't misunderstand me; I don't know anything about that device. But, God, Al used to carry around something like this. It was a handlink to Ziggy."

"And this is a similar-appearing device? Do you believe it would work in a similar fashion, Doctor?"

Sam thought for a while. "I don't know. I don't think so. But this is, you gotta understand, Commander. I've been away from my family for a decade, and more. Maybe even a lot more time, because it all seems elastic, like maybe time doesn't really pass for me the way it does for someone like you. But this, it reminds me. I remember my best friend, Al. And I remember, oh God, I remember Donna. Don't you, don't you understand my feelings? Don't you _care_ at all?" He looked up at her, standing nearby.

"Doctor, no one explained to you, but my species, we practice a form of emotional suppression. We are not without feeling. We are simply less demonstrative." Yet despite the fact that it would be better not to touch him, she lightly put a hand on Sam's shoulder. And instantly, T'Pol's touch telepathy was engaged.

 _She saw him leaping, into a dark-skinned man seated at a segregated lunch counter in the old South, and into Lee Harvey Oswald, and into Elvis Presley. She saw him in the jungles of Vietnam and on the ledge of a building, saving a suicidal woman._

She took her hand away. The jumble of sights, and the cacophony of sounds, had been in her mind for less than five seconds. "I believe you, Dr. Beckett, and without reservation. I am sorry that this is your existence now."

"Thank you," he whispered. "We should go. These things belong to Daniels – whatever they are. They can't help us now." He followed her out of the small bunk and dried his eyes.

Malcolm looked at them. "I take it there was no help to be found in there?"

Sam shook his head, but T'Pol contradicted him. "There was one success. I was able to confirm Dr. Beckett's story. We will have Ensign Sato attempt to contact Degra in an hour, and arrange to transport the doctor to that ship."

"Well, that's a spot of positive progress," Malcolm observed as he put the big, heavy lock back on cabin E-14's door. "Ensign Crossman, why don't you take our guest to wherever on the ship he wishes to go until then? Commander, I take it that's permitted?"

"Of course," T'Pol replied. "I will inform Commander Tucker of your brief absence, Ensign Crossman."

Jenny nodded and Reed and T'Pol departed. Jenny looked at Sam. "Well, you heard the man. Anyplace in particular you wanna see?"

"Archer's quarters," Sam replied, "or do you think that's too personal? I just, I wanna see a little bit about what makes him tick. Does that make sense to you?"

"Of course it does," she said, "after all; he's having conversations with _your_ friends. I think it's only fair." She took him to the captain's quarters.

"It's funny," Sam remarked a few minutes later, thumbing through Archer's clothes in the closet, "but the process of leaping means that I get the clothes and the person I leap into, well, I guess they get whatever I was wearing when I first started out."

"So it's something out of style?"

"Maybe," Sam smiled.

"Where do the other people go?" Jenny asked.

"They used to go to Project Quantum Leap. I get the feeling they don't anymore, except for Archer, right now, of course. I have to believe that those other people are all right, but of course I don't really know. We had – they have – somebody has – a waiting room."

"Maybe there's another one. You know, with old magazines and a potted plant that needs watering," she joked.

"Probably." He smiled, and the skin around his eyes crinkled.

"What's it like? Leaping, I mean."

"Well," he sighed, "your identity gets pretty messed up. You stop being your own person, but that's kind of how it's got to be. You fall in love with whoever they love; you dislike whoever they don't like. You get their taste in clothes, their food preferences, and even their speech patterns. Because I don't have a guide these days, it's all rather confusing. I go from place to place and person to person, and I've only got my own wits about me, when I try to figure out where and when I am. The people aren't always friendly. This has been a damned lucky leap, far as I'm concerned."

"You must speak about a thousand languages."

"I speak whatever the, I guess you could call them the _host_ – I speak whatever they speak. Then I go someplace else and I've forgotten all that. All I remember are the highlights and now, increasingly, I remember more and more about my _first_ – I mean _earlier_ – life."

"You said _first_."

"Yeah, I suppose I did. Jenny," Sam said, "I sometimes wonder if I'm dead. Does that make any sense to you?"

"All I can go on is what I see before me," she pointed out, "I'm an engineer, remember? If you were dead, I get the feeling Dr. Phlox would've noticed that, know what I mean?"

"Probably, yeah." Sam turned back to looking at Archer's possessions. "I like the artwork. And this model is pretty neat."

"That looks like a kid's toy," Jenny commented. "I bet he had it when he was little. His father built our engine. Or, rather, Henry Archer designed it."

"Holy cow. See now, there's another place where we differ; my father was a farmer in Indiana."

"Have you been to the future? I mean our future."

"No, and I wish I had now. I'd know how your war turns out. Truth is; this is the first time I've been past 2004, ever. I had wondered, at times, whether that was some sort of hard ending, that time had ended and that was that. Of course I was mistaken," he smiled again.

"Then this really is a different kind of a leap," Jenny commented, "if it's close to a hundred years later than you've ever gone before. Maybe this is your last leap."

"Who knows? It could even be that it's all going to change again. Or this is some sort of fluke. I can't help feeling that it has something to do with Archer, although God only knows what."

There was a communications chime, and Jenny answered it. "Got it; Crossman out." She looked at Sam. "Hoshi managed to get a hold of Degra."

"I guess it's show time."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Can I talk to you?" Jonathan asked Al.

"Uh, sure. Step into my office," he joked, ushering Captain Archer into the hallway.

"I'd like to get outside again. Is that okay with you?"

"Of course it is. I always love taking her out for a spin. Got any specific destination in mind?"

"I want to visit Donna Eleese's house," Jonathan said.

"Oh. Did you not hear her? She said she can't handle seeing you. And I can't say as I blame her. Frankly, you sometimes give me the willies, too. At least you're a good guy, not like some of the nozzles Sam leaped into over the years."

"Noz–? Uh, look, Admiral, you told me that Dr. Beckett doesn't leap unless he's accomplished some sort of task, right?"

"Well, sure."

"Maybe that's what this leap is all about. He's got something or other to do in my time period. And maybe that also means that I've got something to do in yours."

Al looked at him and cocked an eyebrow. "You're not him."

"But–"

"Just hear me out, Archer," Al stated, in a tone that brooked no dissent. "I lost my best friend a decade ago. And she lost the love of her life. But the truth of it is; we lost him maybe five or so years before that. The moment he first leaped, he was effectively gone. Oh, sure, we had communications with him. And there was one time that he and I were switched and he was able to be here for a day and a half. And that was it. She got a day and a half out of a decade and a half."

"That's horrible."

"I'm not done yet. See, everybody who was ever in our waiting room, they took on Sam's appearance, his aura, his, his essence, if you will. They all looked like him. But at least they sounded like they normally do. Elvis sounded like Elvis. Dr. Ruth sounded like Dr. Ruth. Cam Wilson presumably sounded like himself – his voice was changing, poor kid. And on and on. Then we had no one for a decade, and then you. And you come here, and you don't just look like him, you also sound exactly like Sam. I know that I would lose it under the best of conditions – and I practically have. When I got a text a few days ago, I was overjoyed. But it was because I thought _Sam_ was back. Captain Archer, you're a pleasant enough person but you are not Sam Beckett. But me, I get to go home to Beth and try to make some sense of it all. Donna doesn't get that luxury. She's been alone and bereft for years. I don't know what your being here means. But I do know that it's killing her."

"I'm not here to try and hurt her. Or you, or Sammy Jo, or anyone else," Jonathan tried to assure Al, "but if this leap is reciprocal, then I need to fix something. I know I shouldn't really be changing too much of history. And that's in my own best interests – if I fix or alter too much of it, I run the risk of never having been born, or losing someone on my crew because of that. They're good people and they have a war to win and I don't want any of them gone. I don't want to risk that. But I think I should be able to talk to Dr. Eleese."

"Ziggy!" Al bellowed, "Figure out why Captain Archer is here."

"Now, I don't know that, Admiral," Ziggy replied, in mechanical tones that were female in pitch and were spiked with attitude.

"Can't you at least theorize something?" Jonathan asked.

The computer beeped and whirred and seemed to be weighing the possibilities. "There is an eleven percent chance, Captain Archer; that you are here to save Dr. Eleese."

That got Al's attention. "What the hell's going on, Ziggy?"

"I only know what I can conjecture. Dr. Eleese checks in every single day, several times per day, searching for news of Dr. Beckett. She checks in far more frequently than anyone else has in the past decade, ever since Dr. Beckett's disappearance and the loss of contact."

"What times of day does she typically check in?" Jonathan asked. Al looked at him quizzically. "I have an idea," said the captain.

"The most frequent time is," the computer paused to check its records, "within five minutes, before or after 2:11 AM."

"She's not sleeping," Al commented.

"Admiral," Captain Archer concluded, "I get the feeling she's clinically depressed. Does she ever go out with you and your wife?"

"No."

"Does she ever have you over, or go to visit you, or to anyone in the project?"

"No, and I don't think so."

"Is she seeing anyone?" asked Jonathan.

"Now, Captain!"

"I'm not asking for me."

"Oh, uh, not that I know of. Dammit, Sam, I mean, Captain Archer, she _is_ depressed!"

"She's like, oh, boy, is there a bookstore around here?"

"What?"

"A bookstore, Admiral. I think I should go to her home, but I shouldn't arrive empty-handed."

"What, are you bringing presents now?"

"Just, just get me to a bookstore – it can even be an electronic one – and get me there, okay?"

"All right," Al finally agreed, "and I'll charge that as _stamps,_ too. Sheesh, I hope this doesn't make things any worse."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

On the _Enterprise_ , Jenny and Trip stood by the transporter's controls as Sam waited. "Now that I know what you're going to do, I can't help but be a bit nervous."

"Maybe think of it like leaping," she suggested.

"Ready?" asked Tucker.

"Ready as I'll ever be," Sam replied, shutting his eyes tight.

"All right; let's energize this thing," replied the Chief Engineer.

The process of being transported was strange. It was close to leaping, but not quite. Sam – when he opened his eyes again – was on board an odd ship with an even odder complement. He looked around at the strange aliens, who had forehead ridges and weird hairlines. One, who was darker-skinned, came over to him. "Captain Archer, why have you insisted on returning?"

"I think we've got unfinished business," Sam said, still uncertain as to which of the people he was with was Degra. He had been shown an image, but the aliens were so … alien. He felt unsure.

"When we last spoke," an alien man who had been standing in the back came forward, "you claimed that the initial attack on your planet was morally wrong. But you must understand something; I didn't build that weapon for morality's sake. I built it to save my people. And I'm sure you would do the same if the roles were reversed. You would save your own people and your own skins."

"Degra," Sam said, hoping that he had the right person, "yes, it's true, I said that." _**A time traveler says yes to everything.**_ "And I suppose I can see your point. But allow me to tell you a bit about one of the young victims. You know, of the seven million innocent men, women, and children who were killed when your initial weapon was deployed."

"I don't see what that has to do with anything," interjected one of the other aliens.

"Oh, I'll listen," Degra seemed skeptical, "but I hardly see where it'll prove anything. Children are innocent; we all know that."

"I'm not talking about a child," Sam pressed, "Her name was Elizabeth Tucker. She was twenty-four. She worked as an architect; all she wanted to do was build. She wanted to make sure that everyone on Earth had a good home. Because even now, even though everyone is sheltered, there are still, sometimes, people, who are in housing that is substandard. Elizabeth – Lizzie's – job was to help design new living spaces for them. These would be homes which would conserve energy. They would be spacious, airy, and light-filled. They would mostly have beautiful views. They would be located on grounds where people could grow flowers or even vegetables and fruits, if they wanted to. These homes would be where you could see wildlife, or other beautiful buildings. They would be comfortable, too. People would live with their extended families, or by themselves, whatever they wished. They would be sheltered from rain and wind, snow, and excessive heat. They would live their lives in dignity, beauty, and comfort."

"Let me tell you something about dignity, beauty, and comfort," Degra countered, "when my world tore itself apart, we weren't thinking about such luxuries. We were thinking about _survival_. This young woman's death, I will, I will admit that it is tragic but it is not my –"

"Yes, Degra, it _is_ your fault," Sam interrupted. "And if you try to hide behind some old cock and bull story about only following orders, then I've got news for you." Sam's voice began to rise, "we had a horrible chapter in our history, and six million people died. People tried to absolve themselves from responsibility, claiming that they were only following orders. Well, immoral orders should be questioned! They shouldn't be followed blindly!"

"What did your people do with these ones who claimed to be following their orders that resulted in so much death?"

Sam calmed himself down before he responded. "We imprisoned them. And with the worst of them, we hanged them."

"See?" the darker alien said to Degra, "They are primitives!"

"That all happened fifty – I mean, a hundred and fifty – years ago," Sam explained. "Our justice system has evolved. But what those people did, it never became acceptable. Those casualties weren't acceptable, and neither are _these_."

"I don't –" Degra began.

"Don't let Lizzie Tucker's death be in vain," Sam implored. "You can end this now. Because somewhere out there, either on Earth, or on your world, or on any of dozens or hundreds or maybe even thousands of inhabited planets, in this galaxy or in any other one that harbors life, there is or there will be another Lizzie Tucker. Sure, she doesn't have that name. And she doesn't have that look and she doesn't speak that language. She might not even be what we would recognize as being female. But she – that alien Lizzie Tucker – she's got dreams, too. She also dreams of the people of her world living in dignity, and in beauty and in comfort. But the Xindi will never know her if you wipe out the humans. Sure, you might spot her, somewhere out there. But you'll hardly appreciate her if you treat the original Lizzie Tucker's death so damned cavalierly."

Degra looked rattled. "Send him back to his ship." He addressed Sam directly, "Captain Archer, I have nothing more to say to you. Do you for _once_ think that I don't feel any guilt?"

"Well, you sure aren't acting like it!" Sam found himself yelling, and he wondered for a split second if those feelings were his, or if they were Archer's. "Those guilty feelings, I bet someone higher up is telling you to just forget about them, am I right? Well, you shouldn't," Sam said, starting to feel the effect of the transporter again. "You should feel _that_. It's more important than any orders you're taking!"

He stumbled as he reappeared on the _Enterprise_. "You should –!"

"We should what?" asked Jenny.

"You should maybe prepare for peace, but for more war, as well. I think he can be convinced. I'm just not so sure he will be in time," Sam said.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Book in hand, Jonathan Archer rang Donna Eleese's front doorbell as Al waited in the candy apple red sports car and called Beth on his cell phone, cooing sweet nothings in her ear as she laughed at work and pretended to be annoyed.

"Coming!" Donna called. When she opened the door, she froze. "I, I thought I told you."

"I know you did," Jonathan said, "but I came to bring you a present, and to tell you something. Can I come in?"

She stood there, thinking it over. "I don't know what's better."

"I don't, either," he admitted, "but let's talk a little bit. Just a little. See, I think I have a mission, too. And I think my mission just might be here, talking to you."

Donna ushered him in. "There's the back patio, by the swimming pool." He followed her in and they sat down on deck chairs. "Well?"

"Well, first, here." He gave her the book, which was an old paperback with a cracked spine. "Sorry I didn't get a chance to wrap it."

"That's all right." She turned it over and read the title, " _The Odyssey_."

"Yes. Let me tell you the story."

"I've read this; I know it."

"All right, well; then let me tell it in my own way, all right?" Jonathan looked to her and she did not object, so he continued, "A man traveled. He saw all sorts of wonders, around the known world. He was a hero of the war, and all he wanted, was to come home. But the gods wouldn't let him. And so he traveled. And he was tempted, and he was busy, but he didn't succumb to temptation, and he didn't let all the things he had to do, he didn't let them interfere with his desire to get home."

"Homer wrote this."

"Yes, he did. And the story, well, on the home front, Odysseus's wife, Penelope, she was wealthy and beautiful. And everybody but her thought that her husband was dead."

"She was the only one who believed in him."

"Right. And so these men would come to court her, because they wanted her money. And maybe a few of them were almost decent and wanted to take care of her. But she knew better. And so she told them she would make up her mind about them when she finished her weaving."

"Yes," Donna agreed. "She would unravel her weaving every night, and would never make any progress. After twenty years, he came back to her, and the only people who recognized Odysseus were his old dog, one servant, and her."

"Exactly," Jonathan confirmed, "now let me change that story a little bit, all right? A little bit of Homer fan fiction, if you will."

"I suppose," the tiniest hint of a smile arrived on her lips, for the first time since he'd been introduced to her a few days previously.

"All right, so, Odysseus leaves. And this time, he's delayed, and it's partly because of the gods, but it's also because he's got good works that he has to do. He does them. And Penelope, she isn't being courted by anyone, because she shuts everyone out of her life." Whatever hint of a smile that Donna had been displaying was replaced by a deepening frown. Jonathan continued, "And she waited, and waited. No one knew if he was alive or dead. He was a little like Schrödinger's Cat. By not knowing, for sure, either way, Penelope fell into inertia. At first, she told herself that she was being loyal. Then she told herself that she couldn't be sure. Then she told herself that things were safer this way. Then she told herself that she didn't deserve to be happy."

"Get out."

"What? I'm not done with my story yet."

"I said, ' _get out'_!" Donna leapt to her feet and threw the book at Jonathan, who caught it.

"I don't mean to offend you. And I don't mean to hurt you. But this, your behavior, Dr. Eleese! It's safe. It's comfortable. And you get to play noble. You get to be the noble, loyal Penelope. But you _aren't!_ "

" _What_?"

"You are not." Jonathan got up. "It's been a long time, getting from there, to here. And all you're doing is; you're stuck in this rut. You're not moving, not going anywhere. You aren't even widowed. You're just … _waiting_. Your life is on hold, as you age and you wait, and you fret, and you check Ziggy over and over and over again! You check Ziggy instead of sleeping. And when someone finally came through, and ended up in the waiting room, you saw it as a sign of _what_ , exactly?"

"It was confirmation that he's still alive!"

"Maybe, but we can't be sure, now, can we? I wrote that email, but there's no guarantee that he's in 2153 and can receive it. Tell me, Doctor, what was Sam Beckett like?"

She calmed down a bit. "He was wonderful. He was always looking to help people. He could sing, and play piano and guitar. He was a healer. He was kind and gentle and loving."

"Did he snore?" Jonathan asked.

"I don't see what that's got to do with anything."

"Just answer the question, Doctor. Did he snore?"

"I don't, I don't remember. I don't think so."

"Did he hog the covers? Did he pick his teeth in public? Did he leave dirty socks on the floor?"

"No!"

"Did he complain about doing chores? Did he forget to call or text you? Did Sam," Jonathan thought of what to really ask, "Finish too quickly?"

She cracked him, hard, across the face. " _Get out_!" she yelled again.

"I'll tell you," Jonathan matched her volume. "I don't care whether he did or didn't do any of those things. It doesn't matter. But what does matter is that you've been idealizing him. He's the paragon of virtuous perfection and no one in the last fifteen or so years has ever even come close."

"That's what it's supposed to be, when it's the love of your life!"

"Fair enough," Jonathan replied, "but answer me this one, if you can. _If you dare_. He loved you that much, so why the _hell_ did he go leaping in the first place? He had an untested system. He had no way of knowing how to get back, or even if he could. If he loved you _that_ much, why did he leap? Why did he leave in the first place?"

Donna started sobbing, and Captain Archer could barely understand her. "He, he, we, we had a, a fight. An argument; it was about his work, and about how, how nobody believed that it was going to work. He walked out, dammit, Sam, why did you walk out on me? Why did you leave me?"

Jonathan put his arms around her. "Shh, shh, I, oh, God, I'm so sorry, Doc – uh, Donna. You didn't deserve this. You didn't sign on for this. Listen, I don't know what's going to happen. I have no idea if we'll switch again, or if just one of us will get back, or neither of us will. Maybe now I'm going to be stuck with the curse of leaping, too. But whatever happens, whatever it is, I want you to know something."

"Y-yes?" she looked up at him, and her eyes were red.

"I want you to know that you can take this as a sign that he's alive, my being here. But you can also – I hope you will, I really do – you can take it as a sign to let him go. Live your life, Donna. You have a long time ahead, I bet. I don't know what your personal future is. But someone as wonderful as you are? That person, that woman, that Penelope, she doesn't have to stay at home and weave, and then unravel her weaving, forever. And that's true whether Odysseus is alive or not."

Lower jaw trembling, she stared at him as Captain Jonathan Archer disappeared into bluish space.

Nearly one hundred and forty years later, Ensign Jennifer Crossman of the _USS Enterprise_ watched as Dr. Sam Beckett did the same.


	7. Chapter 7 (Epilogue)

**Chapter 7 (Epilogue)**

Captain Jonathan Archer returned to the _USS Enterprise_. It took a few more tries for Degra to be convinced that humans were not a threat. This included a failed stratagem utilizing a shuttle training module, and presenting a Xindi initiation medal from Archer's own future, which Crewman Daniels thoughtfully provided. While there were casualties, including Major Jay Hayes, the Xindi Ultimate Weapon was stopped, and Earth was not destroyed. And Degra, before his own demise, expressed regret and sorry for the many victims of the first weapon, and he acted the way he did, and tried to lead his people to peace with the human race, because of the promise that had been seven million Lizzie Tuckers, gone before their time, and all because of Xindi actions.

Sammy Jo Fuller, Tina, Gooshie, Dr. Verbena Beeks, and Admiral Albert Calavicci continued trying to find Sam. There were a few hints over the years, but nothing as substantial as Jonathan Archer's surprise visit. They never knew whether Archer ever returned to the _Enterprise_ , but Sammy Jo and Ziggy both postulated that, if the forces leaping Sam around were good – God, fate, time, or something else entirely, perhaps – then Earth would not have been left to its own devices during the Xindi war. Although his return could be neither confirmed nor denied – and he, too, was much like Schrödinger's Cat – they felt that the odds were very good indeed that Captain Jonathan Archer had been returned safely to his own time period.

Those same people were also all pleased and proud to stand up for Dr. Donna Eleese when she married Edward St. John V, a British fellow who had been Gooshie's assistant programmer.

 _Dr. Sam Beckett never returned home._


End file.
